Conversations with Niceness

NICENESS launched in 2017, built on craft honed in Japan and abroad. What did those years before the brand teach you that still shapes how you work?

There are countless things I learned over the years, so it is difficult to reduce them to a single lesson. If I had to choose one principle that continues to shape the way I work today, it would be dialogue.

I believe that nothing should move in only one direction. The relationship between people, materials, and techniques should be one of mutual influence, where each element informs and transforms the others. That sense of exchange remains central to everything we do.

I also learned the importance of approaching craftsmanship with care and respect, and of recognizing the beauty that resides within skilled handwork. At the same time, I have never wanted to rely solely on tradition or technique. It is equally important to continue searching for something new.

No matter how valuable a craft or philosophy may be, if it cannot connect with the present moment, it risks eventually being forgotten. What interests us is adding new interpretations and new value to inherited techniques and cultural traditions, allowing them to resonate with contemporary sensibilities.

Our goal is not to preserve the past as it is, but to carry its value into the future through new forms of expression. That attitude remains the foundation of NICENESS today.

“Just good is good.” Unpack that for us. What does it actually mean inside the studio?

To be honest, I think the phrase itself is intentionally ambiguous.

Western thought often seeks clear conclusions and definitive answers, whereas Japanese aesthetics tends to value ambiguity, space, and the things left unsaid. “Just good is good” exists somewhere within that ambiguity.

What one person considers good may be entirely different from what another sees. Ultimately, that judgment belongs to the individual. Rather than providing answers, we prefer to pose questions through the objects we create. The interpretation should remain open.

That said, I do have a clear personal standard for what I consider good. It is not defined solely by the outcome, but by the process behind it—the way we engage with materials, the dialogue we have with craftspeople, and the accumulation of experimentation and refinement along the way.

Because of that process, we can stand behind a finished product and confidently say, “Just good is good.”

For me, the phrase is not about defining quality through a single measure. It is about leaving room for people to discover value through their own experiences and sensibilities. That openness is what gives the phrase meaning.

NICENESS pulls references widely. Workwear, hunting, subcultures across decades. How do you decide what enters a season and what stays out?

I am constantly influenced by the social conditions and historical context of the world around me. From there, I begin opening different drawers of memory and knowledge, searching for the images and sensations that feel closest to what I want to express.

For that reason, the criteria change from season to season.

The references people often associate with NICENESS—workwear, hunting garments, military clothing, or subcultures—are not necessarily the starting point. More often, they function as tools that help communicate a new idea or a new form of expression.

The clearer a reference is, the easier it becomes for people to enter the work. It can provide a familiar point of access. But our goal is never to recreate the past.

What interests us is presenting new perspectives and new values. References are simply a means to that end. At the centre of the process, there must always be something new.

Looking across the brand’s seasons so far, what feels like the real signature of NICENESS?

I have never thought of a particular garment, detail, or material as the signature of the brand.

What sits at the core of NICENESS is a way of editing—finding new relationships between different eras, cultures, and systems of value.

We are interested in creating dialogue between things that might initially seem unrelated: folk craft and contemporary design, military garments and artisanal techniques, music and clothing, art and utility.

While we have deep respect for the history of dress and the cultures that inspire us, our intention is never simple reproduction. We want to reinterpret those histories through our own perspective and connect them to contemporary life.

Looking back, I think the signature of NICENESS lies in that process itself: crossing boundaries, reinterpreting what already exists, and transforming it into something new.

“Aesthetic Dissonance.” Where does this season’s title come from, and what does it mean for the collection?

“Aesthetic Dissonance” refers to the tension and sense of unfamiliarity that emerge when seemingly unrelated things encounter one another.

Harmony is often regarded as the ideal form of beauty, but I believe there is tremendous potential within dissonance as well. When different eras, cultures, and systems of value collide, they can generate entirely new perspectives.

That moment has always fascinated me.

The relationship between Hogarth and punk culture in this collection is one example. Although they are separated by more than two centuries, they share a common spirit.

For us, “Aesthetic Dissonance” is not about resolving contradictions. It is about discovering new forms of beauty within them.

The starting points are an 18th-century English painter and 1980s punk. Two distant poles. What made them belong together this season?

At first glance, William Hogarth and 1980s punk culture seem to have very little in common. Yet for me, they share a similar spirit.

Both emerged as critical responses to the established values and authorities of their respective eras. What interests me most is the way they crossed cultural hierarchies—high and low culture, elite and popular culture—and proposed alternative ways of seeing the world.

I see both as forms of editing against established systems of value.

More than two hundred years separate them, but there is a clear connection between what Hogarth achieved through printmaking and what punk expressed through music and fashion. Both challenged existing structures and created new forms of expression by bringing unlikely elements together.

That is why, despite the distance in time, they felt spiritually related and became the starting point for this collection.

Heavy that turns out to be light. Fraying rendered through print. Flat fabrics holding depth. Talk us through how those tricks come to life in the studio.

We always try to build small surprises into our work.

A garment may appear heavy but feel unexpectedly light. A surface that looks worn may actually be the result of advanced printing techniques. Something seemingly flat may reveal unexpected depth upon closer inspection.

I am fascinated by those moments when perception and reality do not quite align.

The ideas themselves are often developed through careful and detailed thinking, but they could never be realised without the exceptional skills of the craftspeople and technicians we work with in Japan.

Through ongoing dialogue, we explore what is technically possible and often discover solutions that go beyond our initial expectations.

NICENESS exists somewhere between new ideas and extraordinary craftsmanship. The product emerges through the constant exchange between those two forces.

Is there a piece in this collection that you are especially proud of, or want people to look at closely?

It is difficult for me to single out one piece.

Every garment in the collection carries the same level of care and attention, and each one represents a different challenge or experiment.

Rather than focusing on a single item, I hope people will experience the collection as a whole. The individual pieces are important, but together they reveal a broader world—one that reflects the ideas, relationships, and details that we have been exploring throughout the season.

Your AW26 text reads as a critique of global sameness. Where do you locate the source of that flattening?

I think this flattening has emerged through our collective pursuit of efficiency, rationality, and reproducibility.

When everything is measured against the same standards and continuously optimised, the differences shaped by place, climate, and human touch gradually begin to disappear.

Part of what draws me to the philosophy of Mingei is precisely this question. The value that Soetsu Yanagi recognised in folk craft belonged to a world that existed before standardisation. No two vessels were exactly the same. No two textiles carried precisely the same expression.

Even when produced through the same technique, objects naturally changed according to the landscape, climate, and individual hands involved in their making.

What remains in those objects is not efficiency but the memory of a place. Not standardisation but traces of the human body.

I am drawn to that sense of specificity, and I believe there is still much richness to be rediscovered within it today.

The press release talks about subtleties that cannot be captured through a screen. In a world where clothes are first encountered as images, what gets lost?

We live in a time when much of our experience is mediated through screens.

That has undoubtedly brought many benefits. We can access information, ideas, and cultures that would once have been far beyond our reach. But something is also lost in the process.

Clothing is ultimately something experienced through the body. The texture of a fabric, its weight, the way it holds air, the movement it creates when worn—many of its most essential qualities cannot be communicated through images alone.

Digital spaces also tend to favour what can be understood instantly. Strong symbols and immediate visual impact often receive the most attention.

As a result, subtle distinctions, ambiguity, and qualities that reveal themselves gradually can easily be overlooked.

Those quieter qualities are precisely what interest us. I believe there is a value that can only be discovered through touching, wearing, and spending time with a garment. In the years ahead, that kind of experience may become even more important.

NICENESS has stayed deliberately small. How does that scale serve the work?

I do not think of it as deliberately remaining small. Rather, this is simply the scale that has emerged from the way we choose to work.

NICENESS is built through dialogue—with craftspeople, technicians, and collaborators. Each idea requires time, experimentation, and repeated refinement before it can become a finished product.

To maintain that level of attention, scale matters.

What is important to us is not volume but quality. Not growth for its own sake, but the ability to continue creating new value.

The size of the brand allows us to maintain a certain proximity to the work and a certain agility in the way we approach it. That is what makes it meaningful.

“Quiet defiance” closes the AW26 text. What does defiance look like when it isn’t loud?

For us, quiet defiance is not about rejecting something outright or making loud declarations.

Defiance does not have to mean opposing existing systems or values. It can also mean respecting them while proposing another possibility.

The same applies to the history of dress, traditional craftsmanship, and cultural heritage. We are not interested in denying or overturning them. Instead, we want to engage in a dialogue with them, offering our own interpretations and connecting them to new forms of value.

In a world increasingly shaped by efficiency and rationalisation, paying attention to things that are easily overlooked—local character, physicality, traces of the hand—can itself become an act of quiet defiance.

Rather than shouting against something, we prefer to continue making what we believe in, carefully and consistently.

That ongoing commitment is what Quiet Defiance means to us.

AW26 marks the brand’s first proper presence in Europe, at MIG. What do you hope lands here that might not have landed elsewhere?

There is nothing I particularly want to communicate differently simply because it is Europe.

What I hope people encounter is the same approach to making that has always been central to NICENESS.

Europe has a long history of dress, craftsmanship, and cultural production. Because of that foundation, I feel there may be a particular sensitivity to the processes behind the work—not only the surface of the garments, but also the dialogue, editing, and reinterpretation that shape them.

I do not see this as an opportunity to make a statement as a Japanese brand.

What I hope resonates, regardless of geography, is not a finished answer but an attitude: a willingness to engage with history and culture while continuing to search for new forms of value.

Punk is named directly in the AW26 text. What was actually playing in the studio while this collection came together?

I do not listen to music while designing.

I love music and have been deeply influenced by it throughout my life. However, when music is playing during the design process, I find that it can unconsciously pull my thinking toward a particular mood or worldview.

For that reason, I prefer to work in a quiet environment and spend that time alone with my own thoughts.

Punk is certainly an important reference within this collection, but it was not the result of listening to a specific record while designing. It exists more as part of a larger accumulation of memories, experiences, and cultural influences that have built up over time.

Is there a record, or a scene, that shaped the way you think about clothes?

There is no single record that directly shaped the way I think about clothing.

There were periods when I was deeply drawn to 1970s progressive rock and 1990s nu metal, but I also listen to techno, ambient music, and jazz. I have never felt particularly attached to one genre.

What resonates with me is not a specific style of music, but the attitude of artists who pursue their own forms of expression without being constrained by established frameworks.

In that sense, I have always felt an affinity with figures such as Frank Zappa or Rage Against the Machine. Their willingness to create on their own terms is something I admire.

What artist are you listening to at the moment? Best track?

Lately I have been listening to:

Angine de Poitrine

GoGo Penguin

Cabaret Voltaire

Wire

Kokoroko

I do not really have a favourite track. My listening habits tend to change constantly depending on the day, the season, or simply where my curiosity happens to lead me.

Hogarth opens this collection. Beyond him, is there a painter, or a single work, you keep coming back to?

There are many, but I do not tend to think of any artist as an absolute figure.

For me, looking at art is something like entering into a conversation with the person who made it. In daily life as well, I try not to become fixed within a single perspective. I am always interested in seeing things from different angles.

That is why I am drawn less to works that provide answers and more to works that open up new questions.

Hogarth was one such figure. What interested me was not simply his work itself, but the new perspective it offered and the questions it prompted.

An exhibition that stayed with you longer than you expected.

There have been several, but two experiences remain especially vivid in my memory: the Rothko Room and an exhibition of Marlene Dumas that I saw at Tate Modern.

Neither was particularly explanatory. Their impact was immediate and emotional rather than intellectual.

What remains with me is not a specific interpretation, but the atmosphere of those spaces—the sense of tension, silence, and presence I felt while standing there.

I think truly great exhibitions do not end when you leave them. They continue to change within you over time.

Looking back, those two experiences have stayed with me far longer than I ever expected, and I still find myself returning to them in memory from time to time.

What is on the bedside table at the moment?

I do not actually read much at my bedside. Most of my reading happens during my commute.

At the moment, I am reading Onna-tachi yo! (Ladies!) by Juzo Itami. I have always been drawn to Itami’s perspective and powers of observation. Although the social context is very different from today, there is a sharpness and humour in the way he looks at people and society that still feels remarkably relevant.

I also appreciate his ability to question things that are often taken for granted and examine them from an unexpected angle. That way of looking at the world resonates with me.

A book that changed the way you work.

Not particularly.

I do not think there was a single book that fundamentally changed the way I work. My thinking has been shaped more by the accumulation of many different experiences, observations, conversations, and encounters over time.

If anything, I tend to be influenced less by answers and more by perspectives. What stays with me are not necessarily books that tell me what to think, but those that encourage me to look at familiar things differently.

FILM 21

A film you return to.

Not really.

I rarely revisit films. Once I have experienced something, I tend to become more interested in discovering something new than returning to what I already know.

Of course, there are films that remain in my memory, but I do not have a particular title that I return to repeatedly.

Is there a movie buried somewhere in this collection that nobody would guess?

Perhaps. But if nobody notices it, then maybe it has succeeded in remaining hidden.

That said, I do not usually reference specific films directly.

What interests me more is constructing a collection in the way a film might construct a world. I often imagine the people who inhabit it, the social context around them, and the passage of time that surrounds the garments.

In that sense, I do not feel as though I am simply designing clothes. It is closer to creating fragments of a larger narrative or world.

TOKYO AND THE PERSONAL 23

The brand is anchored in Ebisu. What does Tokyo give you that nowhere else could?

Tokyo is a place where different eras and cultures exist side by side.

You can encounter the newest ideas while, just around the corner, finding small shops and craftspeople whose practices have continued for generations. That proximity feels unique to Tokyo.

I do not necessarily need to travel somewhere special to find inspiration. Much of it comes from everyday life.

Old and new, high culture and popular culture, refinement and chaos all coexist here. Those overlapping layers and contrasts have undoubtedly shaped the way I think and the way I make things.

A shop, a street, or a corner of the city that matters to you.

Rather than a specific shop or street, the place that feels most important to me today is Nagano, where I now spend much of my time.

While Tokyo remains the centre of my work, many of my design ideas and deeper periods of reflection happen in the mountains of Nagano.

Living close to nature is something I value immensely. Being surrounded by the vast landscape of the Japanese Alps and seeing Mount Asama as part of everyday life has become deeply meaningful to me.

I need the energy, speed, and stimulation that Tokyo provides. But being in nature allows me to step back and see things from a wider perspective.

Moving between those two environments has become an essential part of maintaining balance, both personally and creatively.

The first thing you reach for in your own wardrobe.

It changes all the time.

I do not have one fixed item that I reach for above everything else. What feels right tends to shift depending on the season, my mood, and where I am in life at that particular moment.

If you were not making clothes, what would you be making?

I honestly do not know what I would be making.

What I do know is that I would probably still be making something.

Since I was young, I have always enjoyed observing things, bringing together seemingly unrelated elements, and searching for new ways of seeing the world.

Whether the medium was craft, furniture, architecture, or something else entirely, I imagine I would still be drawn to a practice that allows me to think through making.

For me, making has never been limited to clothing. It is simply the way I engage with the world.